That Barmy Old Man
by Elconquisador
Summary: One of Three one-shot stories I wrote long ago. Instead of collecting dust on my computer, I finally got off my lazy duff and posted it. Come in and enjoy the insanity. Rated T for language.


That Barmy Old Man

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, marched down the corridors and hallways towards the Headmaster's office. The fury and wrath unmatched in both the heavens and hell shown in his eyes; the boy was just literally plain pissed.

He stopped and glared down at the gargoyle statue and growled at it.

"Move. Or else I'll use Dumbledore's lemon drops as make-shift suppositories."

The statue, instead of just staying in place like a normal, surprisingly yelped in fear and moved to the side.

The doors to the Headmaster's office harshly flew open, emitting the angered boy in.

"OLD MAN! I WANT A FEW WORDS WITH YOU!"

At the desk was an old man wearing some odd purple robes and half-moon lenses, with a long beard reaching his waist. The pointy hat completed the ensemble and screamed wise old wizard, or something to that effect.

Abus Dumbledore looked up from his work and looked at the young, eyes twinkling while smiling grandfatherly at Harry.

"Why Mr. Potter, what seems to be the problem?"

Harry took a few deep breathes, counted to ten, and then calmed himself. It only pushed back his anger a few millimeters.

"It was you, wasn't it?"

Dumbledore looked at Harry quzically. "Whatever do you mean my boy?"

"Everything that was wrong and fucked up with my life, you had a hand in it. The Dursleys, Sirious and Azkaban, Wormtail, the manipulations, the damned puppeteering! All of it was your fault, you stupid old bastard!"

Harry was mentally preparing his rebuttal to the Headmaster's denial, at least, until Dumbledore fucked him over yet again.

He smiled a little sheepishly while shrugging. He then held up his thumb and index fingers closely together, just barely spaced apart.

"A little."

Harry was shot stupid by this unexpected answer, and was actually derailed of his righteous fury for a few minutes. Then his features contorted into such a rage so badly, that his face began to turn purple. It was in such a shade of intense purple, that Vernon Dursley would have taken notes on the subject of anger if he witnessed the site.

"You fuckin' old bastard! So you knew the whole damn time about the situation at the Dursley's!"

Dumbledore shrugged his shoulders in innocence.

"My boy, I'm merely your headmaster. Whatever goes on outside of Hogwarts is really none of my business. Now if you merely had reported it to me, something could have been done about it."

Harry's eyebrow began to twitch, followed by the quick pulsating of a vein on his forehead. "That's bullshit and you know it, you old codger! You were the one to tell me to return there!"

"Just because I said so my boy, doesn't mean that you had to go there. You could have easily gone somewhere else."

"Bu-, You, - herghtz!" Obviously Harry's anger began to become incoherent.

After calming himself down to where he could actually use normal speech, the boy took a deep breath and exhaled loudly.

"Why did you do it, then." The voice, despite its coldness, didn't affect the old wizard.

"I was bored."

"That's it?"

"Yep."

Dumbledore shrugged his shoulders in acknowledgement to his predicament. "I mean, McGonagal wouldn't put out, even though I told her that my wand was in perfect condition and raring to go."

Harry kept the disgust that began to bubble inside of him in check, feeling that his righteous fury had more seniority.

"Then again, Trewlany gave a good blowjob…"

This time the poor boy couldn't keep his face from turning green and shudders reverberated through his body. Harry's anger regained momentum and caused the lad to lunge at the Headmaster's. His hands surrounding the old wizard's throat, Harry began to choke the life out of Dumbledore. Dumbledore, in a desperate attempt to ward the crazed boy off, reached his hand behind him towards the desk. His old crinkled hands began feeling over certain items. First a large knife; then a spiked club; followed by the sword of Griffindore; fourthed by a Basilesk fang; succeeded by a rubber chicken; second to last a wool sock; until his hand finally rested on a glass jar full of lemon drops.

He promptly brought the jar head onto the back of Harry's neck. The boy dropped like a sack of potatoes. Dumbledore began a little victory dance after regaining his breathe. "Lemon Drops for the Win!"

It was then that the Deputy Headmistress rushed in the office, her fingers nearing her wand.

"Albus! What happened here? I heard the noise of a loud scuffle, and hurried to the source."

She then glanced at the body on the floor and did a double take. "Harry! What happened; who did this!" She then saw something else on the floor. "Are those lemon drops?"

Dumbledore fumbled with a good excuse. "Well, Minerva, the lad came in a fit of fury-born madness. I tried to reason with the boy, but he began to attack. Then, well, you can see for yourself what evidently happened after that."

McGonagal looked at the headmaster suspiciously as she checked over the boy. "Well, in any case, we need to get young Harry to Madam Pomphrey right away." She then narrowed her eyes at Dumbledore. "And you, Mr. Potter, and I will have a nice chat afterwards."

Dumbledore brought back his twinkly-eyed grin to full force. "Of course Minerva, but first I better get something to help get young Mr. Potter back on his feet."

The old wizard went to his desk, and pulled out one of its drawers. He pulled out a leather bag and pulled out some whitish-beige powder. McGonagal raised a curious eyebrow at the powder.

"That's doesn't look like a powdered form of smelling salts, Albus."

"Of course not Minerva, why it is in fact…" Dumbledore then threw the powder strait in McGonagal's face. "…Amnesia Powder!" The Deputy Headmistress fell flat on her back with a dazed look on her face.

Dumbledore wiped his forehead in relief. He'd have to up the Oblivates he's been using, that was a close one. Thank god for Lemon Drops and Amnesia Powder. The old wizard began chuckling to himself. "You still got it, Old Man."

Ah, 8-bit Theater. Your humor tickles me even after you're completed. As stated before, this is one of three stories that I wrote that has been sitting on my computer for a while. Usually me and my fellow writers would sit around and shoot the bull tossing around story ideas. If you guys sat in on these sections, you would be either horrified or laughing yourselves to death. I hope to get around to writing new stories soon, mostly because I have all these ideas in my head that need to get out. I will someday do it, that much is assured.


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